


7 Nights of Halloween

by KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Based on prompts, Drabbles, Gen, Horror, M/M, One-Shots, Rickyl Writers' Group Halloween Challenge 2017, Spooky themes, Suspense, TWD canon universe, ratings/warnings differ for each chapter, spoilers up until season 08
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic/pseuds/KatyTheInspiredWorkaholic
Summary: Rickyl Writers' Group Halloween Challenge 2017A series of one-shots based around prompts given for the Halloween challenge, Rickyl sprinkled throughout in various doses, all spooky/scary/horror stories much like you'd see on late night TV this time of year... but all take place within TWD canon universe.As if walkers weren't bad enough.





	1. Ouija Board

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenalunera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/gifts).



> This was just a fun thing I decided to do because I am a _sucker_ for Halloween, and horror stories, and creepy themes - so obviously I was beside myself to learn the RWG was doing a Halloween challenge. They gave out three prompts, and I wrote all of them (sorry, not sorry) so I'm creating a small series. Not my best work, nothing is beta'd (as I'm still writing/editing them), but they're fun for me and I hope for some of you. The main twist is that all of these scary one-shots take place in TWD universe; they already have the zombies, why can't they have ghosts too?
> 
>  **Warnings/Ratings for Chapter 1:** PG, for Daryl's foul language and creepy elements. We're starting out soft. This one is based on a prompt for the RWG Halloween Challenge. All mistakes are mine, hope you enjoy :)

Daryl busted through the basement door with a crash, slamming into it so hard the tables and chairs blocking the other side went tumbling down the stairs none too quietly. Carl was over his shoulder with his semi-automatic pointed into the darkness, just in case anything was waiting for them, the teenager more than tall enough to see past the hunter and searching what was visible below them with his good eye. Nothing stirred once the sound settled, dust rising from the barely lit area at the bottom of the stairs but not a breath of air moved it in the faint spotlight. No one was home.

Rick and Michonne had the next house over, while Rosita and a few Alexandrians that had passed their gun training sessions kept watch outside around the old moving vans used for these scavenging trips. Not all of them usually went at the same time, but with the steadily creeping winter months approaching in frost kissed mornings and nights so chilled it fogged every exhale of breath, the group was getting an itch of cabin fever. This would be their first winter in Virginia, and also the first season where stockpiling food and supplies wasn’t really a necessity in order to survive to the Spring. But it was hard to shake that habit of gathering anything that could be mildly useful like a murder of crows harboring anything that shined in the sun. So the outing was a much needed relief to all of them.

The two descended the stairs after a few moments of continued silence, blessedly void of haggard breathing or the shuffling of broken and rotting feet. Daryl had pulled out his own pistol, ignoring the empty sting of his still stolen crossbow - how the heavy swing of the weapon off his back into his waiting hands would have settled his still rattled senses at being out in the world again. Instead he looked around with an annoyed frown with Carl on his heels until they reached the basement floor and saw the stacks of cluttered shelving crammed into every available space.

“What a load of junk,” he grumbled to himself, sweeping the space with Carl until they had checked down every thin aisle and behind every stack of haphazard, broken furniture. Calling “clear” in response to the teenager’s statement on the other side of the room. Back when they lived at the prison, and during the times they were out on the road, they would have just skipped a basement like this one entirely. It was full of all the odds and ends that one would usually find in a rich suburban neighborhood: boxes of Christmas and Thanksgiving decorations, old toys that the kids had outgrown but the mothers couldn’t stand to give away, furniture and knick-nacks that they still hoped to use someday but would probably just rot in the darkness for 30 years or more. Junk upon junk upon junk. Always looking more like an abandoned Goodwill or a garage sale that wasn’t going to make a dime. 

But now that they were in Alexandria, the group really wanted for nothing. They had plenty of food, resources, enough to certainly last them the rest of the year let alone until Spring. They didn’t  _ have _ to search for more, although the contribution was definitely appreciated; so during their searches the more… trivial things could now be given a second look. If the kids would want a few gently used dolls or stuffed animals, if someone might want a set of unbroken Christmas ornaments or tree lights that still worked. Little specks of joy that they could now afford to give to others, and even possess themselves. Daryl still kept a careful eye out for important things - blankets, winter coats, dishes or outdoors equipment - but he began to comb through the dozen or so shelving units like browsing the stacks at a public library while Carl did the same on the opposite side. Neither with a heavy heart at wasting time on things that weren’t as important to keep on living.

Personally, it had taken Carl a while to shake the uselessness of it all. Back when he had started going out on these trips and saw what their ‘shopping lists’ contained. But with some choice words from his vast array of parental figures that surrounded him he had learned to just sit back and enjoy it while he could. There was always a part of him that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For their protective walls to come crashing down, Alexandrians scattering like cockroaches under a flashlight, and then the group would be out on the road again - a seasoned pack of wolves traveling from place to place out of necessity. Carl knew it was just a matter of time. In fact, most days he almost expected it before the sun went down. A bed and a roof was always nice, but the security of the open road and a dozen people around with loaded rifles would always give him a better nights sleep than a year of living in Alexandria with no incidents. 

He poked and prodded through the cluttered shelves, the brightly colored boxes of toys and games that were crammed into one corner drawing him in more than any of the dozens of cardboard boxes labeled in sharpie scrawl. Everything was liberally coated in dust, giving it muted tones, but the vivid primary colors stood out like a sore thumb amidst the rest of the junk. He cocked his head to the side in inspection, so he could see better as his hands skimmed through the different sized boxes and plastic tubs. A lot of what he found were things that they couldn’t bring with them, either being too big or requiring batteries - and no matter what anyone said about their ‘comfortable’ living situation, batteries were still something that couldn’t be wasted on toys. He still felt a little shame at how many he burned through when reading comic books at the prison, going through their supply like matches when each lithium cylinder should have been treated like gold. 

The things that held his attention the most were toys he recognized from his own basement back home. Things he had loved and played with until they were so battered even his mom couldn’t have sold them - or given them away. Hundreds of legos, lincoln logs that were splintered from use or snapped from being stepped on by adults, an old N64 with Mario Cart still inserted into the top like it was just waiting for a TV and an outlet. He found an entire shelf full of board games too. Some were adult games that looked boring as hell, even now when he was no longer ten years old, like Yahtzee and Trivial Pursuit, but there were some that he bet the kids back in Alexandria would like. He had good memories of playing Sorry, Candy Land, there was even a Harry Potter trivia game that looked kind of cool. With a spark in his eye that gave away his child-like interest, Carl holstered his gun and began digging through the stack, setting a few boxes to the side that he knew he couldn’t leave the basement without. 

Beneath the Monopoly game, that had certainly seen better days, he found a box that had no labels on the sides. The imaging had been stripped off with age, and some of the corners had been duct-taped back together much like the Monopoly box - but with a much higher success rate. He tugged it out, curious at what it could be, and saw that some of the shiney printed picture on the cover of the box still remained - although he had no idea what it was. It had a “for ages 8 and up” in the corner, and shredded bits of imagery showed a board full of letters and numbers with some sort of triangular thing that pointed to each one. Very faintly at the top it read the name of the game, and it looked vaguely familiar but Carl couldn’t for the life of him say from where. If it was anything his mom had disapproved of when he was growing up in Kentucky then there was a fat chance in hell he would even be able to recall why he wasn’t allowed to play it. 

“Ouija Board,” he mumbled to himself, probably butchering the name that could have been Japanese for all he knew. Maybe Michonne would know what it was, or Daryl since he was just a few yards away. Despite how quiet the hunter was, Carl could remember him making references to every basic cable movie and television show under the sun when they lived at the quarry. Dale used to say he had probably spent too much time watching TV back when it was still around. Daryl knew a little about a lot of things, so really if anyone would know it would be him. “Hey Daryl!”

“What?” 

“You know what this is?” He couldn’t say why he  _ cared _ to know what it was, but something about the box just grabbed his attention and wouldn’t let go. He kep searching the faded cover of the box as if there was a hidden meaning beneath it all and he just had to figure it out to understand it. It was hard to look away from.

He heard Daryl approach, the faint huff of an exhale that was the closest thing the hunter could give to a laugh, and knew he had seen the stack of board games Carl had planned to bring back with them. “Always played cards, m’self,” he answered before he could get a good look at the box in Carl’s hands. “What’cha got?” Carl held it up to the light that brightened his little corner from the small ground windows near the ceiling. Daryl’s narrowed gaze squinted further in the darkness, if that was at all possible, until he could read the washed out cover only to stop in his tracks not five feet from where Carl stood.

“Put it back.”

“Why? What is it?” Carl asked, finally able to tear his gaze away from the board game to stare at Daryl - who was watching the box as if it was a bomb that could go off at any moment. And that was more rattling than the fact that he was worried about a battered cardboard box. What could possibly disturb him about a game? Bad memories, maybe?

“Somethin’ that shouldn’t be fucked with, put it back,” Daryl demanded, turning to leave like he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Fuckin’ suburbia,” he grumbled as he walked back to gather whatever he had found on the other end of the basement. Looking to be contemplating leaving the basement empty handed all together by the tense line of his shoulders and waves of aggravation coming off him. Carl didn’t need to be told twice, even though he huffed in annoyance that he still didn’t know what the game was. But if Daryl was spooked by it then it wasn’t worth the trouble, so he set it back on the shelf and picked up the stack of games he had set aside before following the hunter’s retreat.

Upstairs his dad and Michonne had come to join in their search, not finding much in the house they had searched next door. Daryl was already skimming through Rick’s pack to see what he’d found, using the excuse to stand close to the other man as if no one would notice that their hips and elbows bumped as he looked through things. Carl resisted to urge to roll his eyes, and instead caught Michonne’s who just smiled knowingly back at him. His dad and Daryl were never very subtle, although they liked to pretend they were - but this time he had a feeling that the hunter just felt better standing next to his dad after whatever had just happened with the board game in the basement.

“What’d you find?” Michonne asked as he dropped the stack on the kitchen island, her dark eyes brightening at the sight. “Oh yes, Candy Land!”

“There was a whole shelf down there, figured these wouldn’t take up too much space.”

“Good idea,” his dad told him, a touch of warmth in the words as he did his best to keep back a smile. It didn’t matter that Carl was now a teenager and about as tall as his father, or that he could shoot better with one good eye than most of the Alexandrians combined - he would always enjoy whenever Carl had a chance to be a kid. For a long time Carl hated it. He felt undermined and patronized, feeling as small and useless as he had been at eleven years old at the quarry outside of Atlanta. But he knew better now, as did his dad: the world around them had changed them all, nothing would ever be like it was, so it was best to enjoy the little things whenever the opportunity arose. He didn’t fight his dad on trivial things like that anymore, and just turned his blind eye on the moments when he became embarrassingly happy about dumb things like a stack of games. If anyone deserved that, it was his dad.

“There was a bunch more kid stuff down there,” Carl continued, opening up his swiss army backpack to see if a few would fit inside. “We might want to remember this place for Christmas or something.” He managed to fit Candyland and Sorry into the bag, but paused as his hand lifted up a black box with faded pictures on it held together by just duct tape. He couldn’t help but just stare at it and the floating letters on the cover, an encryption that now chilled him more than intrigued him. He’d sworn he’d put it back on the shelf, how the hell did it get upstairs? “Wha-”

“The hell did I say?!” Daryl snapped at him, words exploding from an angry and frightened snarl that filled the small kitchen loudly. It caught everyone’s attention sharply, even Rosita outside as her head snapped over towards the house with wide eyes to stare through the open kitchen door. “I told’ya to leave it!”

“I did!” Carl hollered back, not used to the quiet hunter shouting at him - all he could do was be just as loud to be heard. “I put it back on the shelf!” It felt ridiculous to even attempt that explanation with the box in his hand, but it was the truth and he didn’t know what else to say besides that. He had obviously not done as he thought, since the box had ended back in his stack and up the stairs. Michonne and his dad looked confused, but they at least knew that much, and it infuriated Carl even more than being yelled at by Daryl.

“What is it?” his dad asked, instead of pointing out that Carl had grabbed the box by mistake. Almost looking as if he wasn’t quite sure Carl hadn’t just tried to sneak it on purpose, but Carl wasn’t looking at his dad - he was watching Daryl’s expression which had carefully shifted to something still hostile but otherwise impossible to place. It kind of scared him.

“You’re sure?” Daryl asked, also ignoring Rick. Eyes darting between Carl’s face at the board game in his hands.

“You said not to fuck with it, so I put it back,” Carl told him shortly. He was not going to be accused of something that wasn’t his fault. 

Michonne was eyeing the cover carefully, reading it upside down even as Daryl rounded the small kitchen island they had encircled to snatch it out of Carl’s hands. He didn’t yell at him again, just kept all his attention on the box - and Carl was reminded why he always liked Daryl best. If Carl said he did or didn’t do something, the hunter believed him. Took him for his word, apparently even when it was something impossible. 

“You found an Ouija Board,” Michonne stated more than asked, answering Rick’s question as the group watched Daryl leave the house without so much as word to anyone else. “Do you even know what it is? Was it with the other games?”

“Yeah, just in the stack,” Carl told her, not sure if they were meant to follow Daryl or not. “What is it?”

“Just a superstitious thing,” she answered slowly, wary of her words even as she spoke them. “It’s supposed to let you talk to ghosts.” 

Carl made an incredulous face, because - ghosts? Really? “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he declared. But then again, not a few years ago no one would have said walkers existed either. That fact hung heavy as a fog in the silence as neither Michonne or his dad bothered to correct him. 

They did follow Daryl when he didn’t return after a few minutes. Found him digging in the back of the moving van looking for something, the entire length of his shoulders a solid line of tension and his hands tearing through bags and boxes with urgency. He ended up grabbing a can of something that might have been expired hairspray or cleaning supplies, before making a beeline around the side of the house to the backyard.

“Daryl! What are you doing?” Rick called to him, but the hunter didn’t pay any of them any mind even as they followed him. At the back of the house he kicked together fallen branches and dry leaves, creating a small pile and tossing the box on top of them. He then doused the entire pile in whatever accelerant he had grabbed, and pulled his lighter from his back pocket ready to set it all aflame. None of them had a chance to even protest before a small bonfire erupted in the suburban backyard among the leaves. Not caring that the fire could rapidly spread to the house or the forest in front of them, and no one protested it either. They knew it would only fall on deaf ears. 

“Daryl,” Rick began, stepping up to touch his shoulder and try to turn him away, but the hunter shook off his grip and just cast the other man a glance Carl couldn’t quite read. But it shut his dad up quick, and soon both Michonne and his dad retreated to the front of the house, letting Daryl do whatever he felt was most important. The hunter didn’t ask for much, so it was hard - especially for Rick - to deny him anything when the time came that he needed something done.

He stared deep into the flames, not even daring to blink as the fire ate through the cardboard box to reveal the hollow cavern inside, licking at the folded up game board and illuminating the darkness within while it slowly burned. It kept it’s shape as the duct tape resisted the flames and melted at a slower pace, giving it an appearance of stubborn persistence in its existence - as if it was clinging to life itself. And Daryl watched it, like it wasn’t the inanimate object they knew it to be and it could somehow escape the fire. Carl stayed by his side for long, stretched out minutes until the mass was one big ball of flame.

“It’s gone now, Daryl,” Carl tried to reason with him, his words muffled in the quiet cold of the New England autumn. The smoke from the fire billowed up, more vibrant in the brisk evening that clung to their clothes and jackets as the sun began to set. But the hunter still didn’t look up.

“Not yet it ain’t,” Daryl mumbled back. 

“It’s not like it can go anywhere.”

“It followed you didn’ it?” He finally cast a glance at Carl, quick and punctuating. “Or did ya actually want to bring it home?”

“...No,” Carl admitted slowly. “...But I don’t believe in ghosts, either.”

“Don’t matter if you believe in them. They ain’t fairies, ain’t gonna disappear if you don’t pay attention.” A small twitch at the side of Carl’s mouth was all that he could manage under Daryl’s serious stare, he wanted to smile at the obvious reference to Disney’s Peter Pan - thinking back to Dale’s assumption at how much time Daryl had spent in front of the TV - but he knew smiling then would only piss the hunter off more. “With the way it is now, burning it is all we can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You never watched scary movies as a kid? Ghosts are stranded here; they’re angry, have unfinished business. Died horrible deaths.” Carl swallowed hard at Daryl’s list. “You don’t think the world is full of them now? That there,” he nodded towards the fire, where the box had collapsed in on itself and still burned bright around the melted globs of tape, “that’s an open door. Like a phone that’s already ringing - just takes one dumbass to pick it up and ask it a damn question for something to come on through. And I’ve seen that movie, no one ‘round here is gonna fuck with that shit on my watch.”

Carl didn’t answer, but instead turned to also watch the remains of the Ouija board burn in the pile of leaves and twigs. No matter how bright it burned, to the point the coals tinged blue in places, he couldn’t feel the heat of it as he mulled over the thought of all the people they knew that would have unfinished business. Who had died angry, or scared, or horribly. Hell, all of them died horribly - and that made him wonder if his mom, or Shane, or Hershel were still wandering around somewhere. Invisible to everything but not able to rest. Suddenly the appeal and danger of the Ouija board made a lot more sense, and he was glad Daryl burned it. They stayed there watching until his dad came back and told them it was getting dark, that they needed to head back. 

Using the toe of his boot, Daryl kicked at the fragile cinders of the box, making sure it was as good as ash. The whole thing caved under his inspection, scattering as a branch popped and sent sparks up into the darkening sky, and that seemed good enough for him. He kicked dirt onto the fire, smothering the flames until they were just pulsating embers gasping for breath, and then turned heel without another glance. 

Carl couldn’t say exactly why he waited until Daryl had left before he too started towards the front of the house where the moving van was waiting for them. He used to always like watching what other people around him did, whether it was cleaning a rifle or organizing supplies on the road. He had learned a lot in his observations, both in whatever tasks were being completed, and about the people completing them - and Daryl was one of the few who never disappointed. When he set his mind to something, or was asked to complete a task, his efficiency was something to be envied - so it had become habit to always hang around and see how things ended with him. But Carl had thought he’d outgrown that, as of late. The unknown territory and apprehension that clung to the situation must have made him revert back to those days - it was comforting and solid in its security, that Daryl always seemed to know what to do. That alone was enough to ease some of the tension.

Until he took a few steps away from the fire and something cracked beneath his own boots, with the distinct splinter of glass and plastic that was much sharper than dried leaves or old fallen branches. There in the grass was a oblong triangle, with a glass circle in the middle as if to see things through - it was cracked in a spiderweb pattern now, but Carl could still see the grass beneath it. He picked it up, finding no sharp edges where the plastic had cracked, and realized it was apart of the Ouija board kit when he held it in his hands. He didn’t know what it was meant for, not even sure how the summoning of ghosts worked since he had never known what the board looked like before Daryl burned it, but it didn’t stop the cold drip of fear that trickled down his spine. How had it gotten out of the box? 

He looked back to the fire, now burning too low in the cold night air to do anything, and fiddled with the triangular pointer in his hand. He held it up to inspect it, maybe see if the crack it the plastic was enough to let him break the thick pointer in half, when a shadow moved on the other side of the glass. With a startled blink Carl looked past the pointer, but there was nothing around him - no walkers, no animals, not even a leaf that may have fallen in front of his line of sight. There was no wind and the backyard was as silent as a grave. 

The sudden urge to bring it up and look through the glass again, like a bionicle or a telescope, overwhelmed him almost as much as the uncertainty of the action, the terror that sparked from nowhere and caught up in his chest and throat like cobwebs. He even halfway brought it up to his line of sight before he stopped, knowing that Daryl had warned him all it took was one dumbass to pick up the metaphorical ringing phone and let something through. If this was what he meant by that, then Carl needed to drop the thing and never think of it again. He too could have the strength to resist the thought of talking to the dead, no matter who it was. 

Before he could over think it, he strided across the yard and chucked the hunk of plastic with all his might into the trees - the small glint of glass disappearing in the darkness so far in he hadn’t even heard it hit the ground. But as soon as it was out of sight it was like a heavy dampness had lifted, and he could heave a deep breath again. He’d done it.

Daryl would be proud.

With a satisfied smirk, feeling gratified in that childish way when a kid did something he knew he would be praised for, Carl turned and headed through the late evening shadows to where everyone was waiting in the cul de sac. Van already rumbling and kicking in protest at being in idle, with all its occupants watching him approach. 

“What took you so long?” Michonne chidded, though there was little humor in her words. Daryl’s superstitions had drained much of the lightness out of their trip, and the hunter didn’t look one bit sorry about it. He just sat hunkered down in his seat with his feet up on the dash beside Rick, ready to put as much distance as they could between them and the suburban neighborhood.

“Nothing, just found something I needed to get rid of.” It was the most he was going to say on the subject then, but he still felt a little elated he had defeated whatever evil had tried to come crawling out of that fire. The hero at the end of the movie that kept what was in the shadows at bay. Days later he’d mention it to Daryl, when it was just the two of them out on the porch with the hunter smoking a cigarette and Carl tossing a tennis ball against the house. The hunter’s quiet approval would be all the fanfare he would need to keep a good mood up for a long time.

Not knowing until much, much later that it was all for naught.

That somehow - impossibly - nestled deep into the zipped up side pocket of his backpack was a cracked triangular piece of plastic, with an inlaid glass circle that was splintered. But not enough that one couldn’t look through it and see out the other side. 


	2. Monster Under the Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings/Ratings for Chapter 2:** PG-13 for spooky elements, disturbing imagery, and Daryl's foul mouth once again. That should be pretty much a given for every chapter at this point. This is once again a prompt that was given to me by the RWG Halloween challenge, and I had a lot of fun writing it. No beta, all mistakes are mine, hope you enjoy.

Judith had a routine. 

Every night, before she went to sleep: she’d brushed her teeth, would be read her bedtime story - usually an old fairy tale told by heart from Michonne or a segment of one of Carl’s comic books - and then her room would be checked for monsters. Very, very thoroughly. In the depths of her closet, under the bed, and even out the window on the roof tiles. This habit happened not long after they had switched her from a toddler crib to her own bed, the little girl now three-years-old and big enough to handle it on her own without falling over the edge and hurting herself. It just had the unfortunate timing of happening the same week a walker made it inside the walls of Alexandria.

It didn’t happen often, but when it did it always caught everyone off guard. They all let the children roam around during the day mostly unsupervised, comforted with the security that they were safe inside the tall tin walls - it’s what they were built for after all. But that day when the shrieks of laughter turned to screams of panic it brought all the adults out of their homes like an air raid siren. A group of kids from the daycare had been playing hide and seek in the small patch of woods to the North side of the town, and no one had seen that one of the exit gates had been rusted through on the other side. The determined corpse had pushed through and stumbled into the quiet community, lurking silently for who knows how long until the sounds of the kids had caught it’s hungry attention. 

Among the kids had been Judith, one of the first to get a full view of the rotting animated body as it reached out for them in growling rasps and vicious snarls. She had tripped trying to get away, screaming in terror and agony at the pain of hitting her head on a stone while the other children abandoned her to run screaming as well. Daryl shot the walker between the eyes before it could reach where she sat bleeding and crying, had scooped her up and held her while she sobbed, with his own heart racing just as much as hers was. It had been such a close call, too close, and Judith was terrified. 

From that night on she refused to sleep in her own bed, alone in a room filled with all the creaking sounds and whispers that emitted from the aging house. Rick didn’t mind it one bit those first few nights, he didn’t want Judith out of his sight and had even taken her with him on patrols a few times to ease both of their discomfort, but once it started approaching two weeks of his daughter sleeping in his bed he knew he had to try and convince her otherwise. It was one of the first times the little girl pitched a fit, her stubborn screams born from fear instead of childish need. Only when Daryl told her that he would check her room for monsters right before she went to sleep did Judi even look mildly placated. 

And so began their nightly ritual. It worked, most of the time, but they still had instances when she would get up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with her father. Not even Daryl’s added presence when he too started sharing Rick’s bed a month or so after the incident swayed her seeking sanctuary, in fact it almost encouraged it - much to the two men’s dismay.

Eventually the afternoon with the walker was forgotten by the rest of the community, pushed back into the furthest recesses of their minds with all the other unpleasant episodes that ruined their fantasy lifestyle, but Judi never forgot. No matter how late the hour, or how tired she may have been, she still would not let her head touch the pillow until her Uncle Daryl checked under her bed for monsters.

How else was she supposed to know it was safe to shut her eyes?

\--

It was late October when they sent out a small search party for some supplies that were needed. The list mostly contained medical supplies and mechanical parts to assure they would be ready for the long winter ahead, when going on runs was too dangerous in the snow. They had recruited a couple of people for this particular run, some Alexandrians who were registered nurses back when the world still existed and make sure they were getting the right odds and ends instead of filling the shelves with useless expired medicine. But the only person they really needed to come along for the auto parts store was Daryl. Fewer numbers were safer, and with the hunter’s experience it was a no brainer that he would also be apart of the group going beyond the gates.

Their only problem? Everywhere surrounding Alexandria had been picked clean over the years, mostly thanks to the group of survivors that had taken up leadership in their town. What could they say, they were efficient. There wasn’t pharmacy or auto body place that hadn’t been raided in almost a hundred miles in every direction. To get what was needed they would have to travel much further out, turning the supply run into a week long affair. But it was important, and needed to be done to ease the rough months ahead.

Judith strongly objected to this arrangement.

Personally, Rick wasn’t too happy about it either. But again it was what had to be done. Sure there were plenty of other people who knew cars as well as Daryl did, but the hunter was the only one that worked on every single vehicle inside the walls of Alexandria. If push came to shove and they couldn’t take everything they needed, he would be able to make the smart decisions that would allow them to still keep everything running until spring - he had to go. Daryl used to go on every run outside the walls, rain or shine, short or far, they had just all gotten too comfortable with having everyone home. Safe within the towering tin walls and usually in shouting distance of each other. But he could last seven days without the other man, alone in the house with his children - as Michonne was also going on the run with them. They would be back in a week, and everything would be fine.

He hit his first snag that night, when Judi proclaimed he wasn’t searching her room properly for monsters. Apparently, there was an art form to making sure the invisible beasts stayed away while she slept - and Rick did not know the finer points in assuring that happened.

“You aren’t doin’ it right!” she would whine, high-pitched and tired and more than a little cranky. He had never really paid much attention to what Daryl did when he ‘searched’ her room each night, but he knew there were no dramatics involved so he wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong. He had sifted through the closet, all the desk drawers, opened the window to look up and around on the shingles of the second floor, and even gotten on his hands and knees to look under the bed skirts at the dusty space beneath her little twin bed. But Judith still sat there with her blankets pulled up around her, hugging a large pink pillow that resembled a rabbit with floppy ears, and not only looked wide awake but vaguely terrified that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without Daryl there to clear the room. Not even a second or third round of searching appeased her.

Rick let her sleep in his bed that night, and the night after, and the next night as well. It was a bad habit that he shouldn’t have encouraged, he knew this and could practically hear Lori scolding him for doing something similar when Carl was small. But after the past year, where the he-and-Michonne arrangement dissolved and turned into he-and-Daryl almost just as quickly, Rick just wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore. He had Judith sleeping in his room every night the hunter was away, and only attempted to get her in her own bed once again on the final night of the week long run. For purely… selfish reasons. Living with a toddler it was usually too much to ask for some alone time, as they had absolutely  _ impeccable _ timing when it came to interrupting, but it didn’t hurt to at least try. 

That night was very cold, the late October winds pushing against the house and making it creak and breathe like a living thing struggling against the strong gusts. The trees outside rustled constantly, branches scraping against the side of the house where they managed to touch the roof, sometimes sending leaves or lightweight twigs sailing past the upstairs windows. The glass rattled in their wooden frames, no longer air-tight like they were in some other rooms in the house, which let small wisps of cold through on occasion. Rick made sure his little girl had an extra quilt on top of her comforter, knowing the weight would also help her feel rooted and calm, and had read her a story that lasted far longer than normal. She was yawning in two-minute increments by the time they were done, eyes so heavy with sleep they were practically closed, until he shut the book and she was back to staring at him in slight fear - awaiting him to make sure the room was safe for her to sleep.

With much more theatrics than was probably necessary, Rick searched the room  _ very _ thoroughly; top to bottom, in every shadow and in some places so small and ridiculous Judith even giggled at his antics. The house still made sounds around him, creaking in the walls and floorboards, scrapes of branches against one wall when the wind blew hard enough, gusts that wailed and shook the window glass - but if anything it made it easier to get Judith to be satisfied with his inspection. As if he were scaring away the things trying to get in. He even heard what must have been a squirrel skitter across the roof above them when he went to look outside once more. 

“You’re sure nothin’s under there?” she asked quietly when Rick was looking under her bed for the second time, lifting the blanket and glancing underneath without really seeing anything - he couldn’t even make out the wall that the bed was pushed against - but he straightened up still kneeling on the floor and took the little girl’s hands in his.

“Nothing is there, I promise,” Rick told her as calmly and assuredly as he could, a smile quirking one side of his mouth that she tried to mirror but ended up yawning widely instead. “Okay, time to lay down.”

“But what if somethin’ is still here and you miss’d it,” Judith protested, even as she was ushered into a vertical position beneath the layers of heavy blankets while she hugged her rabbit pillow. “Or it comes in later.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rick said with that same low, calming tone. “As soon as Daryl gets home tonight, I’ll have him come in and recheck everythang for you - and he’ll tell you goodnight too. But you need to try and sleep before he does, okay?” She pouted, sticking out her bottom lip as she mulled it over stubbornly. “Your room is safe right now, so it’s okay to sleep until he gets here and looks again.”

“...okay,” she finally mumbled, her exhaustion outweighing her fear as she yawned once more. Rick knew full well that she would be dead asleep by the time Daryl got home, but it was a small hope that maybe the three-year-old would actually spend the entire night in her room that night if both he and Daryl made a show of looking for monsters under her bed.

That hope brightened as he reached the bedroom door to turn out the light, and looked back to see that Judith was already fast asleep.

\--

It was well past one in the morning when the group got back to Alexandria. Michonne and Daryl dragged themselves through the front door looking like ten miles of hard road, but the run must have gone well because they didn’t look downtrodden past being exhausted. Michonne didn’t even say a word as Rick came up to greet them, having stayed up to wait for them to return home, just kissed him on the cheek and waved off any questions before ascending the stairs to her own bedroom. She and Rick had ended their relationship on good terms, better than Rick could have ever hoped for - it had been Michonne who ended it, but they both agreed it was a little while coming. Even though it had been wonderful while it lasted. 

She hadn’t been surprised by Daryl either. Rick was pretty sure she knew the archer’s feeling for Rick, and his for Daryl, way before either of them had realized it. There was a good chance it was part of the reason they had broke up in the first place, but it hadn’t created any rifts in the household. Michonne still lived with them, she was family, and it was good to know that their separation wasn’t going to change that. It was one of the few things Rick could feel genuinely thankful for in their apocalyptic world that he hadn’t had to fight tooth and nail for.

Michonne was well up the stairs before Daryl’s quiet presence captured Rick’s attention, a shy advance that made Rick grin - the other man still remained so unsure of their boundaries day to day. Rick was usually the one to have to break that barrier before the hunter responded in kind, standing close enough to knock shoulders or hips, holding on to his arm or patting his stomach as he walked past. Little gestures that wouldn’t seem like much to most people, but were intimate and natural and the best part about how they had shifted closer together over the past few months. 

In his exhaustion Daryl had gotten close enough for Rick to feel the cold that clung to his clothes, smell cigarettes and the exhaust from his motorcycle, as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Rick’s other cheek in a joking gesture to Michonne’s dismissal of him moments before. Rick grabbed onto the hunter’s arm to hold him there and give him a proper welcome home in the foyer of their house, kissing him straight on the mouth before telling him “you aren’t getting away that easy. How was the run?”

“Fine, got everythin’ we needed,” Daryl told him gruffly, quiet so his voice didn’t echo up the stairs and wake anyone. “We’re all back in one piece. How was it here?”

“We survived,” Rick said teasingly, doing his best to not get distracted by the way the outside world lingered around the other like cologne. An enticing aroma of pine and dead leaves, sharp biting wind and dust from their scavenging, with hints of the fire they must had slept beside the night before. “Judi slept in my bed the whole week, said I can’t look for monsters right.” It was also hard to not think about how for the first time that week the bed in question was blissfully empty of his three-year-old daughter. 

“Course ya are,” Daryl muttered in a lilt that sounded almost taunting, and it made a grin reappear on Rick’s face. “It’s cause you don’t believe in them, they ain’t gonna run from someone who isn’t expecting to find anythin’. Not even Rick Grimes.” That was definitely a teasing tone, and Rick had to kiss the archer again for the way he said his name like it was something formidable that demanded authority. It was too alluring not to.

“They should know better.”

“Can’t be the big bad all the time,” Daryl growled at him, having found his way to that path past his barrier of unease and giving Rick as best as he could take. “You think we’ll get that bed all to ourselves tonight?”

“Probably not,” Rick answered between one biting kiss and the next. “We should take advantage of it while we can. Promised Judi you’d check her room one more time for monsters, since I ain’t as efficient as you.”

“You mean you suck at it,” Daryl grinned into the kiss, the two about to dissolve into either hushed snickering laughter and playful shoving towards the stairs - or something heated and sensual that could leave bruises. A familiar precipice they usually balanced on when it was just the two of them. Alone, for however long that may be. It had them feeling at ease -

Until a high piercing shriek rang through the house.

It was a long a prolonged scream, so high it rattled Rick’s ears, the sound so loud and hysterical they both immediately knew it was Judith - and that it was not her normal shout after a nightmare. She was screaming like she was hurt, terrified, and in danger. The same scream she had let out the day the walker stumbled across her playing hide and seek near the woods.

They raced up the stairs, Daryl’s boots thundering in their approach, and almost ran straight into Carl as he exited his room with a shotgun in his hands. Michonne had also burst from her own room, Katana sheathed but ready and nearly got to Judi’s room before them, but Daryl had a running start and made it through the door before any of them. Rick almost ran into him too. The hunter had jerked to a stop just inside the doorway.

“HOLY SHIT!” 

Rick hadn’t seen whatever Daryl did, neither had flipped on the light until he’d run straight into the other man’s back. Whatever it was had disappeared when he reached over and turned on the overhead light, illuminating everything only to reveal an empty room save for Judi crying hysterically. Rick crossed the space in an instant, climbing onto the little twin bed where his daughter had squished herself into the corner where the bed met two walls - curled into a ball and holding her arm to her chest. She was crying and still screaming, trying to make words as Rick pulled her to his chest, trying to soothe her but not knowing what he was saying over her wails of terror, and was barely able to pull her arm from her chest to see what was wrong.

“It tried to take me away!” she sobbed just as Rick managed to free her arm, revealing a series of deep red scratches across her wrists and forearms, bruising beginning to yellow and form around where the bleeding slashes. It had dug into her arm and wouldn’t let go even as she had ripped herself free of it’s grip. 

Daryl was on the ground when Rick looked up in horror, not sure what could have done such a thing or where it would be - looking to the hunter for an answer - only to see him three steps ahead. He had taken Carl’s shotgun and was using the long barrel to cautiously lift the bedskirts and skewed blankets to look into the darkness beneath the bed. But as soon as he lifted it enough for light to pool underneath an unearthly hissing sounded from just below where Rick and Judi sat. The noise crept up from where the bed was flush with the wall, and something scrambled across the hardwood floor of the bedroom. Scratching, skittering sounds that filled the room, and shook the bed a bit sending Judi into another fit of screams. 

“What the hell is it!?” Rick yelled, not too proud to admit he was scared shitless too, but his anger tended to get the best of him in these kinds of situations. “An animal?” The window wasn’t even open, how did it get in there?

“No, get off the bed,” Daryl demanded, not taking his eyes off whatever was under the bed. Rick did as he was told, standing up and picking up Judith, handing her to Carl who had his hands free and could reach without standing too close. The little girl clung to his neck, wrapping arms and legs around her brother like an octopus and not letting go as she sobbed into his neck. Carl immediately got behind Michonne and the two didn’t need to be told twice that they needed to leave the room. 

Rick had jumped off the bed with a good few feet distance from the edge of it, as if whatever was down there would reach out and swipe at his feet if he didn’t. And he wasn’t wearing shoes, so it would’ve been able to get a few good swipes in if it had. “Get downstairs, we’ll be there soon,” he told Michonne as he closed the door on them, locking him and Daryl in with whatever was under the bed. He reached down and took Daryl’s pistol off his hip, berating himself for already having taken off his gunbelt that night, and got down on the ground next to where Daryl lay. He couldn’t quite see under the bed from where he was, Daryl had lowered the blankets a bit to subside the hissing and growling beneath the piec of furniture. 

“There anythin’ on the other side of that wall?” Daryl asked him, voice so low and quiet it rumbled like distant thunder. 

Rick shook his head in answer, checking the rounds in the pistol as he positioned himself to be able to aim and fire effectively. “Just our bedroom, then I think it’s just the top of the ceiling in the living room.” The downstairs had a lot of vaulted ceilings, making the rooms seem bigger but not something Rick had ever been used to. A more high-end feature to nice houses that didn’t have any purpose in his opinion.

“Good, cause we’re gonna shoot it.” They didn’t need to talk about the logistics of it beyond that, just an exchange of a sharp nod in agreement from Rick to let the archer know he was ready. That as soon as Daryl lifted up the blankets and bedskirt once more with Carl’s shotgun, he would shoot whatever was hiding there when he saw it.

Very carefully, Daryl moved the barrel further under the bed to be able to lift more of the quilts, to give Rick a better shot. Rick looked down the barrel of his own pistol in hand, waiting for visibility, but he hadn’t been prepared for what he saw. He froze in the face of the thing crowded against the wall, even as it shrieked in their faces.

It was not an animal.

It had the distorted features of something that could have been human, except for the exposed sharp teeth and lack of lips, black eyes too large for its face and staring right through them. It’s skin was pale and clung to it’s skeleton like cheesecloth, wrinkled and old as scrolls of parchment paper. It’s hands and feet hand long appendages with nails that were razor sharp and needle-like, and it stank. A revolting mixture of wet mold and rotting meat. He had no idea what it was, only that it looked evil - hungry and menacing - and it had been hiding in his daughter’s room.

With a shrill scream, revealing more rows of it’s pointed teeth, the trance finally broke and Rick felt himself pull the trigger on his gun. Not even able to blink in his stunned state, but also not able to aim. The bullet didn’t hit anything, and only made the creature scatter. It decided to brave the light of the bedroom, darting out from beneath the bed faster than anything either of them had ever seen - and it caused the to men to retreat in tandem. Flinching away and skittering back until their backs hit the door, giving it plenty of room to maneuver around and make it’s escape.

Daryl had pulled up the shotgun and aimed as best he could, trying to be faster than the creature that moved unlike any animal he’d ever hunted. A jolted mix of crawling and running, as if if couldn’t decide if it used to be human or not; it was repulsive to watch, impossible even, like each move of its limbs would actually break the bones beneath it’s skin. Daryl fired at the creature again, but it was too quick. He couldn’t even tell if he clipped it, or if he’d punctured the window for it, because a second later it crashed through the glass and wooden beams and disappeared into the night. They heard it’s sharp claws scurrying across the roof above them as it climbed the house, and then the shuttering sound of it jumping into the trees. It shrieked into the night, an echoing, haunting sound that sent terrifying chills dripping down Rick’s spine and made bile rise up this throat. 

Once the shrieking subsided, and they both realized they were huddled on the ground against the wall with guns pointed at the open window, not letting anything in but the cool October night on a billowing breeze, Rick could finally feel his lung as he struggled to breathe. His heart beat so hard and fast in his chest it had been impossible to catch his breath for a few minutes, but suddenly the force of it hurt as he sagged against the wall and Daryl’s shoulder beside him. Not able to think beyond -  _ holy shit _ . Because Judi really did have a monster under her bed.

For the next month everyone in the house slept in the living room, family style much like back when they first came to Alexandria. Michonne and Carl never saw what was hiding in Judith’s room, but they knew better than to argue with Rick and Daryl when they were as scared as they were. Even after they replaced the window in the little girl’s room, with the added addition of iron bars across the glass. They did the same treatment to every window on the second floor - not trusting that the thing under Judi’s bed wouldn’t decide to come back and try to take her away once more. Even though the window had been shut the entire night before it had been broken.

They never figured out how it got into the house in the first place. 


	3. Lost in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings/Ratings for Chapter 3:** PG-13, border-lining rated R for violence and disturbing images. Although I personally don't think they are that bloody, I was told that I should just rest on the side of caution. This chapter takes place at the beginning of the Alexandria era, in Season 5b and Season 6? Right after they first get there and start to settle in. This is the third and final prompt given to me for the RWG Halloween Challenge, and I hope whoever submitted it thinks I did it justice. No beta, any mistakes are mine, I hope you enjoy

Daryl tended to run from his problems. 

Ever since he was old enough to realize he could, he’d been running away until things had blown over - even back before the world had ended. It took a long time for his new-found family to catch on that his frequent hunting trips at the prison were just ways to cope, while keeping himself productive and still contributing. By the time they had all arrived in Alexandria it was easy for most to tell the difference between an actual hunting trip, and one of his excuses to get away for a few hours. Although it was no longer a simple task to just slip away undetected, with there only being one way in or out of the secluded community. He hated feeling monitored. Almost as much as he hated the vulnerable need to isolate himself when he couldn’t handle what was going on around him. Which he also hated. It was that complex mix that usually drove him from the compound in anger, looking to lose himself between the trees until he felt more in control.

Because lately it felt like everything was just falling apart around him.

He wasn’t used to the manicured houses all built in neat little rows, or the societal expectations that he’d never really followed even when the world was whole. The judgemental stares and hushed whispers had put him on edge almost as much as the tall tin walls that surrounded everything, but he would’ve gotten over it. If there was one thing Daryl Dixon was good at, it was adapting and surviving. No, what he couldn’t handle was how everyone had changed as soon as they felt they could get comfortable in Alexandria. How he didn’t have a place to stand on his own two feet, a purpose, not until Aaron and Erik had invited him over for dinner and the recruiter asked him to be his partner. It shouldn’t have felt so strange, almost painful, that no one in his family had helped him find his place. They had just drifted to their own corners, content to begin life anew.

Even Rick.

Rick was the reason Daryl had driven himself deep into the Virginia wilderness that afternoon, despite the bitter cold air of late October that stung his skin as he explored forests he’d never seen before. He’d been tracking a deer for about a mile, had seen it run into the woods when it heard his bike coming down the abandoned two-lane highway. He couldn’t have said exactly how far he was from Alexandria by that point, but with the sun still hanging high enough in the sky to permit him a few hours of daylight, he knew he had to try and find the doe. It had been well fed, and despite what Rick or Carol had to say about the state of their food pantry he wasn’t going to pass it up. Not when it was the perfect distraction.

The bike was parked a little ways off the road, up a dirt drive that no one would venture down and out of sight of the paved highway. As long as the deer wasn’t so big he couldn’t bring it back on his bike, he knew it was just what he needed to abandon the thoughts plaguing his mind. Memories of Rick’s questioning stares, when he wasn’t too busy watching the blonde woman across the street, or the burning amount of knowing that resided in Carol’s. He didn’t need her opinion on shit, or Rick’s judgement on top of everyone else’s. Although more and more often their sparse interactions were turning into the older man just flat out ignoring his presence, treating Daryl like the feral cat that he always knew would be there chasing mice whenever anyone needed him. But the truth was the hunter was lost inside Alexandria. He was so used to following Rick’s lead that he hadn’t noticed he’d forgotten how to get on all on his own - at least comfortably enough to blend into a more respectable crowd. 

He had already lost one home at the prison, how was it so easy for everyone else to find a home in Alexandria when the wound still felt so fresh for him? And all the people they had lost recently: Beth, Bob, Tyreese. He couldn’t relax, didn’t feel safe inside the false world they had found, and could feel his family slipping through his fingers along with his sanity. So he had to get away, find himself again and remember why everyone had even bothered to keep him around in the first place. He’d make it back out of this hole, figure all this shit out - without Rick if he had to. No matter how much that stung.

Daryl refused to look into that sentiment any further either, not since he’d seen the way Rick had started looking at the kind woman who called herself Jessie. She was married, too, and that just made Daryl’s hackles rise for far too many reasons to examine without punching something.

He spent the entirety of the afternoon picking through the dense brush, weaving between trees and following the faint deer trail laid into the ground - made easier to see by the blanket of fallen leaves lying crisp and cold on the forest floor. There weren’t many other animals around, which made the woods eerily quiet in his search. Sometimes a far call of a bird, or the skitter of a fat squirrel making one last run for food for the winter, but the cold had gotten to most of the creatures it seemed. Sending them South or into early hibernation. There weren’t even bugs chittering in the trees, just the quiet crunch of leaves beneath his boots and the dense silence pressing in from all sides. 

It made the deer easy to spot, a snap of a twig sending the redneck into a crouch behind an evergreen, already sparse with the coming winter season. At first there was no deer, and Daryl held his breath trying to listen for another sound - not liking the heavy quiet that followed. It felt too predatory, filled with another presence that was also shallowing it’s breath, kneading it’s paws into the ground ready to strike. Daryl couldn’t have even told you what predators one would find in this part of the country, a wolf or a coyote? Were they far North enough for bears or mountain lions? But then the deer stepped into his line of sight, the fragile sound of twigs snapping under its hooves so light he almost didn’t catch it. 

His crossbow was an extension of his own arm, brought up smooth and ready, lined up perfectly so all it took was a single breath between looking down the notch he used as a scope and pulling the trigger. A bolt went right through it’s rib cage, the perfect kill shot that should’ve torn through lungs and heart alike so the animal hemoraged instead of falling to the ground to cry and whimper until it’s vital organs shut down. Merle used to like the crueler methods of deer hunting with crossbows, but Daryl couldn’t afford the death cries of their latest meal attracting every walker within shouting distance - and after all the death and torture they had lived through, he just didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Not even for something that was going to become food.

The deer had fallen not 30 yards from where he hid, and it didn’t get up even as he approached - loading another bolt into the crossbow just in case he wasn’t wrong about there being another predator in the woods with them. He knelt next to the animal when he reached it, checking for remaining vital signs and ready to put it out of its misery if his aim had failed him. If it did then Daryl figured he probably should re-examine how much Rick’s disregard was affecting him, but it was dead and slowly bleeding into the half-frozen dirt beneath them. It was going to make a mess all over his jacket if he slung the creature over his shoulders and fireman carried it out of the woods, but a small part of him didn’t really care. In fact, that same small part he thought had been snuffed out over the years relished in the idea of walking back through the streets of Alexandria, covered in blood and scaring the daylights out of the housewives that couldn’t help but peek out their curtains every ten seconds. That part of him sounded a lot like Merle, and felt more like home than anything really had in awhile.

“Help.”

Daryl’s head snapped up, a little rattled that he had no idea where the sound had come from. The single word was not a whisper, couldn’t have been the wind or a trick of the emptiness surrounding him, but it had been far enough away that he knew he wouldn’t be able to see the source through the trees.

“Help me. Please.”

It was a man’s voice, he could tell that much, and it didn’t have an accent or any other characteristics beyond that. It was faint, almost sleepy sounding, and lacked any panic but still  _ sounded _ urgent somehow - Daryl didn’t like it one bit. He picked up his crossbow in his left hand, holding it solidly and feeling stronger for it. With his other hand he reached to some loose brush that the doe had been nibbling on before it’s fateful fall, and pulled it over his kill to hide it as best he could from whatever prying eyes were watching. He knew he was being watched, it was glaringly obvious by that point - and he cursed Alexandria, all it’s people, and his messed up feelings for Rick fucking Grimes for distracting him so much he hadn’t even noticed. The voice was a trap, he knew that as well - but on the off chance he was  _ wrong _ , could he really just leave whoever it was to die out there without even checking to see if they existed first?

The answer was no, much to Daryl’s disdain - another emotion that sounded a lot like Merle when it started lectures in his head - and he found himself creeping through the brush as silently as he could. Footfalls even quieter than the deer’s had been, lost in the pulsating silence of the late evening. How he hadn’t noticed night had already begun to fall too, Daryl couldn’t really say. He’d been so caught up in his head he hadn’t even seen the sky tinge and bruise in layers of blue and purple. The full moon sitting fat and bright on the bare branches overhead, giving him a bit more light as he made his way towards the sound of the man still calling for help.

“Over here. Please, help me.”

For one, ridiculous moment all Daryl could think of was the  _ Predator _ movies. Imagined an invisible alien hunter standing 50 feet off the ground in the tree tops watching him as he made his way towards the trap - using recorded voices of people it had already killed in it’s game of sport. What was even more ridiculous was how he dismissed that thought entirely based on the fact the Predator hunted in warm, tropical climates - not the frozen labyrinth of trees in New England.  _ You watched a lot of TV before all this, didn’t you? _ He could practically hear Dale laughing at him from beyond the grave, and it made his chest feel a little lighter - like he could smile at the memory if he wanted to. The old man had never gotten over the fact Daryl had known what  _ On Golden Pond _ was, and seemed to prefer the classics when it came to quips and insults.  _ You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. _

“Help me, help - please.”

The voice was clearer now, not a couple yards ahead, and Daryl pressed himself close to a large oak, darting from tree trunk to tree trunk as quietly as he could while still searching around for the source. He finally caught a glimpse as he hid behind a small grove of pine trees - using the half bare branches and thousands of needles to mask his presence and still was able to see into the small clearing beyond. The clearing alone made it clear this really was a trap, but he was also surprised to actually see a man there. He looked wounded, sounded drugged, and wasn’t moving a damn muscle. 

Not even to draw a breath.

_ Damnit _ .

Apparently he wasn’t the only sci-fi horror fan in the woods that night. Some sicko had impaled a walker or something on a tree and must have been waiting for him to come investigate. Unless he actually had a tape recorder, which would be a dumb waste of batteries in Daryl’s opinion. The man was definitely dead, even in the rapidly fading light Daryl could see that much. His torso was rigid, tacked to one of the trees at such an angle he had to have a sturdy branch going straight through his back and possibly out his throat. The blood sure looked fresh, though, bright red and still glistening in the faint moonlight. But he wasn’t going to think on that too much, it was easier to hope it was a walker and not an actual man that had died not too long before Daryl had started his hunt for the deer.

Speaking of, with a strong rush of need to be as far away from that grove and the voice that still called for help (despite the fact the man’s mouth was not moving), Daryl turned heel and beat it back to where he’d hid the doe as quick and quiet as he could. Cursing himself the whole time. He knew it was a trap, had kept himself from walking into it, and still seen something he probably could’ve gone his whole life without and been happy as a clam. But he just  _ had _ to go make sure it wasn’t really someone in trouble.  _ You an’ yer damn bleeding heart.  _ That time it was definitely Merle’s ghost chastising him, and Daryl couldn’t help but agree more. Caring too much seemed to be the root of all his problems lately.

“Are you shittin’ me!” He hissed to himself when he found where he’d taken down the deer, only to see the brush scattered to the four winds and only a stain of blood in the dirt where the animal had been not a few minutes before. He couldn’t have been gone for more than ten or fifteen, at the most! That was the damn trap - whoever it was had been after his deer.  _ Fucking shit _ . All those hours wasted only to come back empty handed in the dead of night, with judgemental stares waiting for him at the gates to their new ‘home’. All because he fell for some dumbass with a tape recorder and a twice-killed walker as bait. 

The snap of a twig, barely there and almost not heard over the thunder of his anger rumbling in his ears, Daryl practically barrel-rolled behind the nearest tree. Keeping as low to the ground as he could manage, crossbow up and ready, sharp ears listening intently for the next snap of wood or crunch of leaves. He was going to catch this fucker red-handed, take his damn deer back, and get to Alexandria before anyone he actually cared about noticed he wasn’t there. The petty anger that was now caught up in his chest and stuck there echoed that it wouldn’t be Rick to notice, and that fed the flames like a good douse of gasoline on a bonfire. He barely breathed as he waited for another sound, a huff of breath, anything - but the silence was so intense and heavy all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

Only moving an inch or so forward, Daryl looked around the curve of the tree bit by bit in search of another person in the dark. With how bright the full moon was the guy could’ve been wearing all black and grease paint and Daryl still would’ve been able to see him just fine. But there was nothing there. 

After a good five minutes of staying as still as humanly possible, Daryl finally straightened up and ventured out again - his crossbow up and moving with his vision like he was sweeping through a house. Anything so much as  _ twitched _ and it was getting a bolt in their ass. He was too pissed off to care by that point. A few yards in he heard a drip of water, and moved towards it - there was no creek nearby and it hadn’t rained, so it had to be something caused by the asshole that stole his deer. He kept hoping to actually stumble over the carcass of the animal in the dark, because he would be sure to hear someone trying to heft the heavy doe through the woods. It had only been 20 minutes since he’d shot the damn thing, so it can’t have been taken far. 

Something wet and warm hit his forehead, contrasted by the chilled night air that had now soaked into his clothes and beneath his skin. It felt like someone had dripped candlewax on his head, and made Daryl jerk back in recoil, looking up immediately while touching his head to feel whatever it was. As soon as he did he wished he hadn’t, on both counts. 

High above him, a good twenty yards up into a tall pine tree, was his deer. Held there by sharp branches impaled through the fleshier parts of the animal, with it’s throat cut and blood still trying to drip from the wound. He knew if he had taken another step forward, his boots would’ve sloshed through the mixture dirt and blood that now flooded the base of the tree. It was too high for a man to have put it up there all on his own, not without a cherry picker or a crane, and all along the tree were scratch marks. Made by an animal that had tried to climb up into the branches - or possibly succeeded, to hide the kill it had claimed as it’s own. The feat would still have taken more time than had passed, and would’ve made a ruckus of some sort.

But Daryl hadn’t heard a thing.

With his heart in his throat and fear burning bright and hot through his limbs, Daryl made his way back through the dark forest in search of where he’d left his bike. He knew it was just a little more than a mile, and though the forest didn’t have many markers he knew he’d be able to make it back with little trouble in navigation. It’s whatever was out there with him that had him keeping a quick pace and staying low to the ground, eyes darting around in the darkness looking for anything beyond the hundreds of trees around him and the ocean of dead leaves on the ground. Dale had been right, he had watched  _ way _ too much TV before the world ended - especially around Halloween when all those terrible and awesome horror movies were on at all hours for his consumption. He didn’t even have a moment to be mad about how those memories of staying up all night with Merle, drinking their weight in liquor and yelling at the TV were now  _ ruined _ because some  _ dick _ thought it would be funny to scare the shit out of him while robbing him. It still had to be some sick, twisted guy who was all alone in the damn woods with nothing to do. Had fucking lost it, or some shit. He was convinced of it.

That was until something big and low darted through the trees a good 40 yards in front of him.

Daryl pivoted and raced in the opposite direction, not sure if whatever it was had seen him or not, but not willing to take that chance otherwise. At least now he knew there was an animal, on all fours and lanky - it had to be a wolf or a coyote. Whether it was the culprit or just a new addition to his shitty night, he didn’t give it much thought as he focused on trying to get back to where he’d hid his bike by the road. But every time he started back in the direction he knew the road to be, the creature was waiting for him - sending him the long way round until he was losing more ground than gaining it.

He was being herded like cattle.

_ Fuck this _ . With a determined rush of anger and frustration, Daryl once again began to head towards the road - still about three quarters of a mile out - with the mindset that he wasn’t going to let this fucker keep corralling him. Whether it be some whacko with a penchant for bad horror movies, or a coyote that had the upper hand and wasn’t scared of humans anymore. That was all he could do, and he could win against those two opponents - if it really was the  _ Predator _ or some shit then his crossbow would be useless anyway and he’d just been speeding up the inevitable. 

What a shitty way that would be to learn that aliens were real.

He saw the shadow up ahead, coming straight his way but not in a charging manner. It didn’t know he was there, so Daryl took the opportunity to duck beneath a cluster of bushes and laid in wait for the creature. It would be much easier to shoot while holding himself stationary, and even in the dark he knew his aim would hold true. Whatever it was had footfalls as light as feathers, because he didn’t hear anything for a long while - and for a moment Daryl worried it had gone in a different direction. 

But then the wisp of underbrush, sounding more like the wind through the leaves except there was none that night, sounded not far from where Daryl hid. He held his crossbow up and waited for the animal to trot into his line of sight, the moon illuminating the area like a spotlight. What he saw could only be described as a wolf, but in the vary loosest of terms - it had to be ill, feral, maybe even had rabies because it didn’t look much like an animal.

In fact it almost looked a little human.

It’s grey-brown fur was scarred up, the ripped yet healed flesh not allowing hair to grow and showing in grotesque tufts all along it’s torso and lanky limbs. The legs themselves had far too much muscle, giving them the appearance of human legs and arms, hunched shoulders and hips too wide for a real canine. But that was what it was. It moved like a ghost, panted breath appearing in front of it’s snout but barely making any sound - and it had no tail.

It was also enormous.

Daryl knew the lack of tail meant something. Alarm bells going off in his head as he stared wide-eyed and didn’t shoot at it, just watched it disappear into the dark as it continued its search for him, while he stayed stock still and tried to process where he’d seen such a creature before. It seemed so familiar, but felt more  _ History Channel _ than  _ Animal Planet _ , if his memory served him right. The good  _ History Channel _ , before all the alien shows. But again, something to ponder when he wasn’t trapped in this damn forest with Frankenstein's dog. 

As cautiously as he could, Daryl backtracked the way the animal had just come, once more heading towards his bike by the highway - but by the light of the moon he looked down and saw the tracks the creature had left behind. With how quiet it's footfalls were, Daryl almost didn’t expect to find any, but there they were plain as day. Pressed deep into the mud by the animal's weight, and distinct even with the leaves on the ground. 

The footprints didn’t look like a wolf’s. They were too elongated, long appendages and nails that don’t belong to any canine. But the further he traveled along the creature’s path, the more the footprints morphed: toes becoming shorter, the pad of the foot becoming wider and longer, until the tracks looked almost like human footprints instead of an animal’s. 

Suddenly, with all the punctuating shock of a gunshot, Daryl remembered where he’d heard about the wolf with no tail. In countless documentaries, also around Halloween, about  _ La Loup de Chazes: _ The Beast of Gévaudan. A French tale he knew backwards and forwards although he couldn’t pronounce any of it for shit. The legend of the werewolf.

Daryl ran.

\--

He was making too much noise and he knew it, racing through the trees and stumbling a few times in the dark on the uneven ground. Jumping over gorges, clipping through brush despite the knicks of thorns and branches across his face and hands. His crossbow now strapped across his back and banging against his spine as he ran as fast as he could. He couldn’t hear the creature behind him, but he had no doubt it was hot on his trail - he just had to be faster.

A little roughed up, mud and dirt caked on his knees and arms where he’d all but flung himself across the deep cavernous pits created by the giant oak trees that made up the forest, Daryl made it to where the woods began to thin. Knew he was near the road, and even found his bike sitting next to an old fence and glinting moonling like a shining beacon calling him forward. With a blink of an eye he strapped his crossbow to the rack he had made on the back of the bike, and swung a leg over - kicking it to life and hearing it roar so loudly it rumbled through his whole being. Echoed off the tree line, and drowned out the howl that sounded much too close. A howl he felt in his chest although he couldn’t hear it, growls that held more base than the bike he built with his own two hands, and the combined vibrations were enough to stop his heart in his chest. He needed to go.  _ Now. _

He swung the bike around, single headlight sweeping through the trees and landing on the animal that had appeared out of nowhere, blocking his single path back to the paved highway. It’s hackles were raised, showing long yellowed teeth slicked with blood that dripped with its salivating hunger to the ground in long strings. It’s skull looked more square now, more stunted, more  _ human _ , and the creature itself was so much larger than Daryl had thought it was. It was much larger than him, than him and his bike combined, and with his crossbow securely strapped in behind his seat all he could do was pull out his pistol and aim it at the monster of an animal. It was useless to do so, but it felt better than just standing there straddling his motorcycle. A twisted version of a grin spread wide and mocking across it’s features, all teeth and blazing yellow eyes, and Daryl knew he’d done for. He’d found his  _ Predator, _ and it had won.

All he could think about was Rick, and his family, back safe inside the walls of Alexandria. How long it would take them to notice he hadn’t come back, or how long before they realized it was  _ too long _ and sent out people in search of him. What if they actually found his trail? And ended up here? With the thing in front of him that looked so damned  _ delighted _ that it had out-hunted the hunter. They wouldn’t stand a chance, not if he didn’t. He’d almost escaped, but it would play them like a damn fiddle. He couldn’t let that happen to them, to any of them - especially Rick, who might actually get his head out of his ass when he figured out Daryl was in trouble. Who wouldn’t forgive himself, or give up until he found a body, and spiral into something even worse than what he was heading towards now.

The spiraling that had driven Daryl away in the first place.

Fuck, and he’d never even told him that’s what was wrong. It didn’t matter that Rick would never know Daryl was head over fucking heels in love with him, that was something the hunter had planned to take to his damn grave, but he’d never gotten to say everything else. What it meant that he took a chance on his redneck ass back on the farm, trusted him, helped him change from that asshole no one could stand into a man for the first time in his miserable life. That he  _ hated _ how distant they’d become since they’d moved into Alexandria. That he missed his best friend. But he was also worried sick, that Rick was morphing into something Daryl couldn’t even recognize. An animal. In that moment, he saw Rick in the wolf-creature snarling before him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to shoot even if it would’ve made a dent.

“Let me go,” the words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d said them. Quiet, even, not begging but not demanding. Both knew the wolf had won, there was no reason for it to grant his request - or even understand him - but for the first time in a long time Daryl felt purpose rushing through him. He had to get home. “I ain’t done yet, I got someone I need to see.” The wolf only growled more, inspecting him with a deadly cold calculation, and Daryl didn’t know if it knew what he was saying but he kept pushing forward. 

“Let me go.” He doesn’t add please, won’t lower himself to that level that’s so obviously begging, but just stared into the creature’s bright reflective eyes and waited. Waited and watched as it shifted before his eyes, leaning back from it’s crouching pose that had been ready to strike. Watched it’s features change in pops and snaps, the sounds of breaking bones moving beneath its thick skin, until it resembled a wolf more than a man. A real wolf, as big as a small horse, that sat back on it’s haunches and lifted its great head to let out a piercing howl into the night sky. 

A half dozen howls answer him, sending a thrill that was heavy as dread dripping down Daryl’s spine. The calls were far off, but they sounded like they’d come from creatures as large as the wolf in front of him - and he couldn’t help but be afraid. Really and truly afraid, knowing his life was actually in the hands of something else and he would not be able to fight his way out this time. But the wolf just sat there, watching the hunter with eyes that looked too human, a bright blue that were no longer reflecting the moonlight and looked haunting in the face of such a massive animal. It’s expression was dismissive and expectant at the same time, merely waiting for Daryl to move - it took him a moment to realize that this was the creature giving him what he asked. A cold approval that was only available for so long, as if telling him that they were going to give the man a head start. And nothing more.

“Thank you,” he said on an exhale, not even knowing he said it when he let out the shaky breath. Holstering his weapon, Daryl once again kicked his motorcycle out of neutral, and spun it to head in a different direction, going the long way around the animal in case it changed its mind, and only releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding once the tire treads hit smooth pavement and the odometer reached well into the 50’s. 

It took him two hours to get back to Alexandria, refusing to stop for walkers or the fear of other people following him back to the community - nothing else mattered but getting back in one piece. Putting as much distance between himself and the wolves that owned the forest he’d stumbled upon. Not even the busted up and peeling billboards announcing the upcoming Alexandria homes calmed him as he sped past. Only when he heard shouts and saw movement silhouetted against the towering walls and the full moon did he allow himself to realize he was back, he was almost safe and not on the ground with something’s teeth in his throat. 

Abraham and Sasha had pulled the gate wide open, let him charge on through on his bike and probably would have let him go all the way through the town that way, but Daryl caught sight of Michonne and Rick in their constable jackets and spun the bike to a halt. Near wiping out in the process.

“Where did you go!” Rick demanded, but Daryl couldn’t even hear him. He clambered off his bike and closed the space between them in an instant before latching on, holding Rick close and hugging him so tight Rick seemed stunned by the action. “What happened?” But Daryl didn’t answer him, couldn’t even if he’d wanted to.

He never told anyone what he saw in the woods that night, just that the area he’d found himself in was to be avoided at all costs - and no one ever talked about what happened when Daryl got back to Alexandria. Not even Rick, who had hugged him back just as tightly, and pretended that the hunter wasn’t shaking the entire time. 


End file.
